The Enemy
by That Bitch With Crayons
Summary: The Enemy. A nameless, faceless monster who preys on the hearts and minds of men. The Enemy is neither man, nor beast, neither machine nor otherwise. It is simply as stated. The Enemy. The Enemy has begun to plague the G8 summit.


The Enemy. A nameless, faceless monster who preys on the hearts and minds of men. The Enemy is neither man, nor beast, neither machine nor otherwise. It is simply as stated. The Enemy.

Chapter 1: America's Turn.

America walked into the empty boardroom with the intention of sitting down with a hamburger, while thinking of new ways to be a hero that day. The G8 Summit was due to start in about 20 minutes, so he figured he would have some time to kill. As he sat there pondering, with ideas of heroism and awesomeness floating through his head, who else would walk in, besides England.

England didn't seem to notice America at first, despite him being as loud as he is. England was too engrossed in a book about some boring subject that would put anybody else to sleep. He even seemed startled when America cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Oh, America. I didn't see you there. Odd, being as you are usually so very loud. How are you today?" England said, with shock playing at the corners of his face.

_Silly England, _America thought,_ Always trying to act so cool._

"Nothing much England, just thinking about how I can be a hero today. Any ideas on how to make me more awesome?" America said, with undertones of a lure. America always loved to piss off the stiff Brit. Talking about being a hero was one of the best ways to do it.

"America, how many times do I have to tell you? You aren't a hero. You are just an average country just like the rest of us. I highly doubt there will ever be a time in your abnormally fast life where you will have an excuse to be a 'hero'," the Brit said with a scowl decorating his face. At this time, France walked in with a smirk on his face.

"Do you continue to tell our little American friend that same speech because you are afraid you would not get along with each other? You do have a history of villainy, l'Angleterre. Need I remind you of the days of piracy, and world domination?"

"Belt up, you bloody frog. You were no better. You went after the same amount of loot that I did, and went after the same territory. So don't lecture me about villainy," England spat at France. The Frenchman took no mind of the tone he was being spoken too in, but simply grinned, knowing the Brit was right. He had indeed gone after the same loot, the same territory, and killed his fair share of people in the conquest.

America, having quickly become bored of the daily occurrence of England and France fighting, decided to redirect the attention of the room back to himself.

"Hey guys, why don't you get over yourselves, and just acknowledge my awesomeness?" the American said, with a huge childlike grin on his face. The frenchman and the brit had looks of pure astonishment on their faces. Each was silently asking him self, '_Where does this guy get off?_'.

Canada and Japan chose this moment to walk in. Both of the nations were quiet, but strong in their own respects. They took quietly to their seats, each not even really noticing the other, while the large western powers battled it out in a useless scuffle of words. Both Japan and Canada were thinking, '_Why can't they just shut up?_'. However, they didn't have to voice this thought aloud. Somebody else took the liberty of doing it for them.

"Maybe if all of you would just shut up, the world's problems could be solved that much faster," a stern voice called from the hallway. The voice belonged to none other then Germany. He walked into the room, flanked on one side by a proudly strutting Prussia, and the other side by the Italian brothers, with North Italy dragging South Italy by the arm.

"You two are always arguing and just making things miserable for everybody. So sit down, shut up, and act like you like each other for the time that this meeting is gathered. Once it is over, feel free to go back to squabbling where I don't have to look at you," said Germany, who was rather irritated. At some point during the whole speech, Russia had joined them, and taken his seat at the table. Now, everybody was present and accounted for.

"So, to start this summit, I vote we all vote on how awesome I am, and how I should be the hero!" America called out, wanting to break the silence. This was received by a widespread roar of outrage.

While the angry yells were continuing, America began to notice something strange. The room was gradually growing dimmer and dimmer, until it looked like the only light in the entire room was maybe a small reading lamp. America started to doze off, no longer interested in the meeting. It was then that he realized that the shouting had stopped. The room was eerily quiet. The american opened his eyes to discover that the boardroom was empty.

"What the hell?" He said, frantically looking around. American tried pinching himself, thinking this must be a dream. Nothing happened.

"Maybe I fell asleep and the meeting ended. I guess I'll go home then," America said, standing to leave the room.

As America left the boardroom, the hallway outside was much the same. Dark, empty, but most of all, very, VERY quiet. As he looked up, the American knew he must be dreaming. At the end of the hallway, in all their glory, stood France and England. However, something was very different about them. England stood tall and proud like always, but was dressed in his full pirate regalia, right down to the red jacket with blue trim, gold buttons, and the black hat with a feather. France was dressed very similar, but with a blue jacket with gold and white trim, a red sash, and a blue hat with a feather equally as large as England's.

"Well, well, what do we have here, France? A whelp escaped from the brig. Shall we put him back?" The British pirate said with a smirk. France smiled a devilish grin.

"Yes, l'Angleterre, cela ressemble à d'une excellente idée," Pirate France said. The two pirates approached America slowly. He had no idea what was going on, but he did NOT like it. England and France were being really weird, calling him a 'whelp'. Psh, like he knew what that meant. Either way, today these guys looked like bad news. So America summoned his courage. He was a hero for God's sake. There was no way he was going to let these two costume-wearing old men make a fool of him! With this said, or rather thought, the American held his head up high, and stood his ground.

"Oh, so we have a brave one. Excellent. This will make for more interesting sport, eh, France?" The British pirate stated, with an amused expression. France simply smiled. Even still, America did not falter. Rather, he charged. Running at speeds unmatched by most, America charged the pirates. Not anticipating this response, the two were startled, but only for a second. In the next, they had their swords drawn. America saw this but only prepared to dodge the blades. As the two opposing forces approached each other, the battle prepared to become fierce. It was England who struck first. Swinging his sword down in a graceful arc, he intended to knock the American down with one brutal blow. America side-stepped and avoided it, only to have France make a quick jab. America caught the sword between his hands, swung it in a circle, thus loosening the Frenchman's grip, took the sword, and threw it across the room. England took this opportunity to strike at America. France went on the offensive at the same time. America saw France first and narrowly avoided a fist to the face, only to be hit by the Englishman's sword.

America staggered backward and paused a moment to inspect the cut on his arm. It was pouring blood and rather ugly. He was now down to only one arm. Sensing weakness, the pirates attacked, this time even more fierce then before. It was all America could do to just dodge. Quickly losing ground by hopping back and forth, one foot to another, he was quickly overpowered. America fell backward on the ground, his head hitting the concrete with a resounding crack, the pirates stopped. France put his foot on the American's chest and stepped down. HARD. America held in a scream, almost positive that one of his ribs had just cracked.

England chose this time to point his sword at America's neck and ask, "Any last words, boy?"

**Back in Reality**

England noticed America had fallen asleep some time ago. He simply didn't care. It never failed, unless the meeting was addressing him, America always took a nap. This time, however, was vastly different. America was twitching and making noises. It was getting to the point where the meeting had to be stopped. England stood up and walked over to where the American was sitting. It appeared he was having a bad dream. Little did England know, it was much worse then that.

The Brit tried to shake America awake, repeating his name, in order to rouse him. It wasn't working. American only began to twitch harder. It looked as if he was having a full-blown seizure. Suddenly, he stopped moving. His eyes snapped open, glazed over like a man seeing things that weren't there. Within a few seconds, he was thrashing again, even more wildly then before.

"France! Hold him down while I try to snap him out of whatever he's in!" England shouted. France quickly stepped up, and held America's arms down. France, however who was no match for America's strength, was quickly losing grip.

**With America**

America was holding on to life by a small strand. England and France had taken much pleasure in torturing him until he screamed. Cuts and stab wounds covered his body. At least three of his fingers, one leg, two ribs, and both wrists were broken. One of his eyes wouldn't open, and he couldn't move a single muscle.

The two pirates stood over him, almost seeming to be his own personal undertakers. Grinning and laughing like small children on Christmas, they seemed happy to have a broken defeated man at their feet.

"Well, France. I'm bored. Shall we put him out of his misery?" England asked, still grinning.

"Oui, nous allons le faire," The French pirate said. The last memory America had, was of England's sword coming down upon his chest, a blinding flash of pain, and then nothing.

**Back in Reality**

America fell slack. France and England were still trying to snap him out of his craze, but it wasn't working very well. The two older nations relaxed for a second. America was ridiculously strong, and had a lot of stamina. America sat up, eyes still glazed over, and turned his attention to France.

"You're next," was the last thing America said before he completely lost his sanity. He began laughing like a madman, falling off his chair, and rolling. The only way to make him stop was England smashing a glass on his head. England had seen this happen before. He fell backwards into a chair.

"England, what's wrong? And what did America mean by 'You're next'?" France frantically asked.

"It's the enemy. The enemy of all free nations. Insanity. It appears, France, that you are the next victim. There is no way to tell when or where, and no way to fight it," England said, visibly shaking.

"If this becomes a plague, we are all doomed," England said.


End file.
